Last month, today, I turned twenty-four. Last week, today, I was leaving Florida for Africa. And today it rained.

I wake up for a trip to the latrine and then come back to bed. It is so quiet with out the Irish here. I dream about swimming pools on each floor of a massive three floor complex. There are hammocks hanging 15 feet above the water. The roof collapses and all three pools collide. I think it might be my fault for bouncing too much in the hammock. I help to rescue those stuck under deep water in the rubble.

I wake up. It’s OK that I have slept in because it is Saturday and Volset operations are on hold for the weekends. Many here are 7th Day Adventists and do not work on Saturday. They have gone for prayers and only Jeff, Kellie, and me are left behind.

WE go outside and do our laundry. We use a bar of blue laundry soap, which dyes our clothes as we scrub, and comes off when we rinse. We hang them on the line in the courtyard area.

We are going to go visit an old man and Jeff is going to p lay his guitar for him. We walk to Ntenjeru. “Muzungo Muzungo” We meet Jeff and Kelley’s friend, Sam, who is a carpenter in Ntenjeru. He is my age and wants to teach Physics after University.

We walk up to a house that Jeff and Kelley had lived in two years ago. It is only about $30//mo. Compared to $350/mo at Volset. But we would have to get our own food and buy a bed, and change the locks. We are considering it. I would miss the kids in our neighborhood so much.

We leave for lunch at a restaurant downtown (which is really a small room.) When I eat a meal I usually leave my favorite food until last. This is not a good strategy here because I am filling up on Matooke. It is just like a think paste of heaviness.

Sam and I run across the road to buy a soda. (You have to bring the bottles back to where you bought them when you finish.) There are also no trashcans here – or trash pick up. I save my trash for the bin at the White House. Ugandans just toss theirs on the ground. The trash eventually gets digested into the clay, or it is collected and burned.

As we eat, it starts to thunder and pour. We finish our meal and watch the rain. It is very windy and rains in all directions. A pig funs from this place to that, trying to find shelter.

Uganda stops when it rains. We sit in the cool restaurant in silence with the woman cook and four children. The light coming in the door is beautiful. I take photos of a boy leaning against the table – looking out through the doorway.

Sam starts singing a Luganda spiritual to the music of the rain hitting a tin roof. We are full. Later Jeff plays his guitar. The rest of us fall asleep to the music. I wake up when my dream’s soundtrack, Jeff’s guitar, stops playing. I try to hold on to my dream, but it leaves too quickly and I remember nothing but that my dad was in the dream.

We decide the roads are not in good condition for a long walk to the old man’s house and instead visit Erin. We sit in her living room and talk about America and Waffle House and Taco Bell, bridal showers and bachelor parties. Sam tells us Ugandan tradition of weddings and funerals and asks for ours. We talk about the dangers of pit latrines.

We go into town and wait for ages for a rolex. All of Ntenjeru is listing to the football game on the radio. Uganda vs. Kenya. Ntenjeru erupts each time their team scores.

I start to be in a bad mood for some reason – I think it is because of stress from lack of funds. I get impatient at being started at. Muzungo Muzungo Muzungo.. Look! They’re eating a rolex like us! Look! They walk on the road like us! But I get over it. Kelley points out that they stare because we do not make any sense. They just don’t understand why we would come here, and what are motives are.

I feel so much better as we make it to the White House and Wasua comes running to me and gives me a hug, “Duck-duck-goosie!” I start a game and all the neighborhood kids somehow know and show up to play. I start teaching them a new game, but Simba (the dog) come to play and the children run away screaming.

Now I sit in my room after my shower and before dinner and write sloppily in my notebook. I am starting to miss my family and friends and 10 ½ more weeks seems excessive. But then I think of the projects I want to do here and realize that I’ll need all the time I can get.

I was reading the Book of Mormon this morning. King Benjamin’s great sermon to his people before he died. There was a verse that really seemed important to me:

“14. And ye will not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer that they transgress the laws of God, and fight and quarrel one with another… 15. But ye will teach them to walk in the ways of truth and soberness. Ye will teach them to love one another, and to serve one another.” (Mosiah 4: 14-15)

These kids are not my children, nor do they go hungry. But they do go naked. With the rattiest of clothes. So worn and dirty. And for the past few days I have noticed them fighting and arguing. I tell them everyday to be nice and not fight or I will not play duck-duck-goosie. I ask Aaron, the oldest of the bunch, to watch after them and make sure they don’t fight.

I don’t have money, but I’m thinking maybe I could get donations from people at church or friends – it would not cost much at all – and I could purchase a new outfit for every kid that comes to play. Something durable because they wear the same thing day after day.

I love these kids. They are so beautiful. I want them to learn how to lift each other up and to love each other more, to build a community. I will research how much it might cost to get them clothes. I can hear one of them crying right now, a few houses away.

I told Lydia I’d like to learn how to cook a traditional Uganda meal before I leave, so I can fix it for my family. That way they will know what I ate everyday for three months. Ha.

Kale.